


That Old Black Magic

by tzzzz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, BAMF Stiles, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, Dark Magic, Dark-ish Stiles, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Friendship, Hogwarts, M/M, Sorting, Underage Kissing, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzzzz/pseuds/tzzzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott never thought a chance encounter with a strange boy in the woods would lead him to a secret magical school, a werewolf pack, and falling in love with said boy.  Then again, how could he ever have anticipated <i>Stiles</i>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Old Black Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scottmcballin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcballin/gifts).



> scott-mcballin requested Scott/Stiles, Scallison, or Scott/Derek, a Hogwarts!AU, potentially with teen wolf style werewolves, rational house sorting, and no Harry Potter characters except in passing.
> 
> WARNING: There is a small amount of "underage" in the sense that this entire fic takes place when Scott and Stiles are between ages nine and eleven. That being said, the Teen and Up rating is probably generous.

Scott McCall would always remember the day that he met Stiles Stilinski. It was an otherwise ordinary fall day in Beacon Hills. Scott was nine years old and his parents were fighting again. 

Unable to stand the sounds of their shouts and his mom’s tears, he slipped down the stairs, past the disaster in the living room and out the back porch and into the yard. His toys had been cleaned up and he’d outgrown the rusted, splinter-filled fortress of his old playhouse. There wasn’t a distraction that could tear his mind away from the vicious words that spilled out the kitchen window. 

His parents hated each other and Scott was pretty sure it was all his fault. If he didn’t have his asthma and his mom didn’t have to stay home with him so many days that she had to quit her job, then maybe his dad wouldn’t have to work so long and travel so much, and maybe they wouldn’t fight. Maybe, if they didn’t have Scott to worry about, they’d be happy.

Normally a quiet, calm child, Scott was surprised by the sudden, overwhelming desire to do the opposite of what he’d always been told and walk straight out of the nice, manicured back yard and into the forest beyond. 

He wandered. He tripped and fell in a stream. His fingers got cold and chapped. His vision blurred with tears he pretended never fell and the sobs he pretended he never cried scared away the birds. He kept walking until his feet were numb and he was undeniably lost, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get away.

Of course, the grey sky darkened and Scott began to worry. There might be bears in these woods and it was cold at night. But he did remember what he’d learned in school: if you’re lost, stay where you are until someone finds you.

And before he knew it, someone did.

“Hi, I’m Goderic Reginald Sapworthy Stilinski. Who are you?” a tree said.

Except it wasn’t a tree. It was a scrawny, pale boy standing behind the old oak. He was so thin that Scott hadn’t noticed him, even wearing dinosaur pajamas, yellow rainboots, a hot pink bow tie and snorkel goggles. Despite the drizzle that had been spraying Scott for the past hour, he appeared completely dry. 

“I’m Scott.” Scott reached out to shake the kid’s hand, firm like his dad had taught him. “Scott McCall.”

“Hi, Scott McCall.” The kid’s grin widened and then he marched right up and claimed the less-than-person-sized space remaining on the log Scott was sitting on. “Whatcha doin’ all the way out here?”

Scott didn’t want to say he’d run away from home like a crybaby. That would sound stupid. Not that the kid wearing pajamas in the middle of the woods had the high ground on stupid.

“I dunno. What are _you_ doing?”

“Looking for crumple-horned snorkacks. I mean, they’re probably not real. Just because the Quibbler printed a lot of the most important articles during the war doesn’t mean that _everything_ in there is true. But you never can be too careful. If dragons can breathe fire and thestrals can stay invisible until you’ve seen somebody die then who’s to say that a giant creature with moss for skin and a crumpled crystal horn doesn’t exist?”

Scott snickered a little, because they were really getting a bit too old to believe in dragons.

“What?” The kid stared with those big brown eyes, like _Scott_ was the crazy one.

Scott ducked his head, blushing a little, because dragons would be totally awesome, and if the kid still believed in them, Scott couldn’t stand to be the one to burst his bubble. 

“You’ve been crying,” the kid finally noticed. “Why were you crying?”

“It’s nothing,” Scott said, because he didn’t want the kid feeling sorry for him. He didn’t like the sympathetic looks of the teachers or the devastated look on his mom’s face when she saw that he’d heard the fighting. He couldn't stand to see it from this kid too.

The kid knocked their knees together. “It’s not nothing,” he said. “But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Nobody had ever given Scott that kind of choice before: not his parents, or his teachers, or the social worker that stopped by that one time. “I don’t want to.”

“Okay. Then want to see something really cool?”

Scott nodded.

“Well, I’m not really supposed to show you this, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. My dad’s an auror and he’s not going to bust us.”

And then, the kid did the most amazing thing: he jumped into a pile of leaves and they flew back up to the trees they’d fallen from, reattaching and forming a little patch of forest immune to the fall.

Scott didn’t know what to say. He rubbed his eyes and pinched himself a little, but the leaves stayed stubbornly attached to their unseasonal trees and the kid’s grin widened. “Awesome, right? Dad took me in for a test and I’m a real powerful wizard. Goderic Stilinski is going to be the new Harry Potter one day.”

“Um,” Scott murmured, because he had no idea who Harry Potter was, but he knew that, unlike Goderic, his name wasn’t a signed order for a knuckle sandwich. “That’s an interesting name.”

The kid shrugged. “Not really. Unless-- oh, right, none of you has heard of Gryffindor. Is it that weird?”

Scott winced. “A little.”

“Alright. I’ll just make up a nickname. Something bad ass. Something like--”

“Goderic Reginald Sapworthy Stilinski!” a voice boomed. Scott startled so much that he fell back over the log he’d been sitting on and down into a slight ditch. 

“Oh, Merlin! I didn’t think we’d get in trouble. I swear. You need to get out of here before they obliviate you!”

Scott had no idea what the kid was talking about, but he was scared of the voice and the fact that this kid seemed to be doing actual _magic_. When Scott didn’t move, even with the kid’s poking, the leaves suddenly fell off the trees again and landed in a pile covering Scott.

“Huh,” the kid said. “Wasn’t expecting that. But I’ll take it. Don’t move.”

Scott did his best, though he heard footsteps approaching. How many people were wandering out here in the middle of the forest?

"Mr. Stilinski?"

“That’s me,” the kid volunteered, sounding a little too friendly, considering the fact that he was clearly in some kind of trouble. 

“Mr. Stilinski, this is the sixth time this week you’ve triggered the Trace. We’ve sent you several notices that this behavior will not be tolerated. What if you had been seen by a muggle?”

Scott wondered: what in the hell was a muggle?

“I haven’t been,” the kid argued. “And I asked my dad and he says that it’s only intentional uses of underaged magic that are outlawed. You can’t punish underaged wizards for their magic going crazy.”

“That may be true, Mr. Stilinski. However, six times in one week is rather excessive for an involuntary discharge, don’t you think?”

“I think that I might just have a lot of magical buildup that needs a lot of discharging.”

“That level of buildup is positively unheard of.”

“Well, I’m special, then. Unless you think I got an illegal wand or that I learned wandless magic without anybody ever teaching me.”

“That does sound ridiculous, boss,” another voice said. “He’s just a kid and he’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“Fine. But we’re keeping an eye on you, Stilinski. And so help me, if we have to call in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad because you pull some stunt in front of a muggle--”

“Maybe,” the other voice interrupted, “we should continue this discussion in front of the boy’s father. You do know who that is, don’t you Goldstein? Our colleague, John Stilinski, over in the Auror Department? Perhaps we should do him the professional courtesy of scolding his son in front of the man.”

“Fine. Come here, you.”

Scott heard two pops and then nothing. He lay there in terrified, claustrophobic silence for at least five minutes before emerging to an empty forest. To his relief, someone had left an arrow made out of leaves pointing in the direction of his home.

When Scott made it home just after dark, it was to find that his parents had managed to stop fighting just long enough to agree on grounding him for a very long time. When he finally managed to get the courage to tell his dad about the kid and the strange men, it only earned him a trip to the school counselor.

***

 _See! I didn’t make him up!_ Scott wanted to crow on Monday when Mrs. Jameson introduced the new kid, Stiles Stilinski. The name was an improvement, but the choice to wear a Cars rashguard and a kilt to class probably outweighed any ground he’d gained with his new nickname.

Normally, the new kid would be popular for a time, if only due to newness. But between his odd form of dress, literally trying to eat his gluestick, never having seen Kim Possible, and being utterly confused by nearly every word problem in math, Stiles was already being picked on by lunchtime.

The funny thing was, no matter how hard Brandon Dubcek tried to hit Stiles, the bully just kept tripping over his shoelaces instead. Scott ignored the spectacle that had the other kids in riotous laughter and took Stiles’s hand, leading him over to the small space in the bushes behind the tetherball court where he'd hide when he was feeling too sad to smile with the rest of his classmates. 

“I’m going to get back at him,” Stiles vowed. He was flushed from tears and anger. “I’m going to learn parseltongue and get a rattlesnake to crawl into his pants and bite his dong off. I swear.”

“Woah, woah, dude! Isn’t that kind of, um, harsh?” Scott didn’t know what parseltongue was, but having a rattlesnake bite someone in their genitals was extreme, even if Brandon had said some really mean things to Stiles.

Stiles shrugged, sniffling a little. “Don’t look at me,” he ordered. “It’s stupid.”

“Hey, you’ve seen me cry already,” Scott pointed out. “We’re even now.”

“That was different,” Stiles said. “Your parents were fighting. That’s like, a real reason to be sad. I’m crying because some stupid muggles don’t like me. Like I should even care! I’m only here for two years, before I get accepted to Hogwarts and then I’ll go to a _magical_ school where no muggles are allowed and I’ll be like _the best_ at everything.”

That seemed like a pretty extreme fantasy to Scott. He’d read books like that, but cool tricks with leaves and disappearing in the middle of the forest aside, there weren’t really magical schools just for people who knew magic. People with superpowers only existed in movies and comics and books. They was no such thing in real life. His Mom had told him so.

But Stiles _was_ undeniably different. The other kids saw it as just being weird, but Scott could tell that there was a cause to it. Scott knew based on Stiles’s rant about edible mushrooms in science class that he was smart. He just didn’t know _anything_ that normal people knew. It was like Stiles had been raised by one of those tribes in the Amazon that have never seen a toaster or watched TV. He was like Tarzan only he probably didn’t know anything about the jungle either. Maybe Stiles was an alien, like the kid of an alien scientist trying to study humans so that their race could decide whether to colonize Earth. Or maybe _Stiles_ was the scientist and he’d just picked a kid’s body because he didn’t know any better. That made way more sense than a secret magical school. Aliens could totally be real. The History Channel had said so.

“So, um, Stiles, what are you doing here?” Scott felt like an idiot for blurting it out like that, because if Stiles really were some kind of shape-shifting alien bent on world domination it wasn’t like he was going to come out and say it. “I mean, um, if you’re just here for two years, why not go straight to other school or, um, stay where you were?”

Instead of looking mad that Scott was onto him, Stiles just looked sad. “We were all supposed to do it together,” he said. “My Mom went to a muggle school for a few years, when Voldemort was around. The first time. She said that it was one of the best things she ever did and she made my dad promise that we’d do the same thing for two years, before I went to Hogwarts. Even when she was dying, she made us promise.”

Scott gasped. Stiles’s mother had _died_? He couldn’t imagine his mom dying. He’d be left with his dad and his dad wasn’t really nice to be around. And who would mend his clothes and pack him his lunch and kiss him and tell him that she loved him and was proud of him every single day? He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what adults would say so he just let Stiles keep talking.

“My dad wasn’t going to do it. He said it was too much. We were going to do it with her, because she knew about muggles and we don’t know anything. He said there were too many things to get used to and he sent me back to normal school. But I _promised_ her that I would try to be a muggle and Dad wasn’t going to keep his promise, so I had to.”

“You had to do what?”

“I had to put an entire Basic Blaze Box of Weasleys’ Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs down Headmaster Snyder’s private toilet so I’d get expelled and my dad would _have_ to send me to a muggle school.”

“You mean fireworks?” Scott asked. “Isn’t that dangerous?” Smokey the Bear had said that fireworks could even start a forest fire.

Stiles shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure they tickled a little and he got completely covered in toilet water, and really, really, awesomely mad, but it’s just Whiz-Bangs. I’ll show you some if you want. My dad’s banned me from them forever, but my friend Danny owled me some.”

“Okay,” Scott said, because fireworks were awesome and as messed up as he was, Stiles’s mom had just died. He needed a friend and Scott’s own mom had always told him that the people who most needed a friend would be the best ones. 

So Scott ended up inviting Stiles over after school that day. Stiles tried to talk to the tv remote in Latin, but Scott eventually showed him how to watch Kim Possible and helped him with his math homework and let Stiles look around in Scott’s closet to see what kind of clothes to wear. 

Scott felt maybe a little guilty that he was possibly teaching an alien to infiltrate the human race, but Stiles learned things disturbingly quickly. Other than one misfire, when he came to school dressed like it was the eighties (because he’d apparently been watching reruns of Saved By the Bell), Stiles managed to eliminate the wardrobe malfunctions almost immediately. He also stopped being mystified by cars and microwaves and learned how to type. He used fewer and fewer words that Scott didn’t understand and started pretending that he’d never told Scott about his imaginary magical world. He even got better at math than Scott, but still suffered from perplexing misunderstandings when they studied history. He also sometimes had to ask if “people can do that in real life” when they watched TV, but Scott got used to it after a while. 

There were some other weird things, too, like Stiles’s dad, who supposedly worked for the police but never wore a uniform and called guns ‘you mean those bang levers?’ And even though Stiles got them for himself, Stiles father didn’t have a computer or a cell phone or a credit card. Then there was the footprints leading to and from the fireplace and the owls that lived in the attic and the fact that they didn’t own a car or a vacuum or a washing machine.

Stiles became Scott’s best friend without Scott ever stopping to question it. And if he had questioned it he would have realized that his mom was right: Stiles needed a friend and therefore he was the best one. He shared his lunch and let Scott copy off his homework sometimes. Bullys literally couldn’t touch him. They went bike riding or walking around in the woods and Stiles never got lost. He always made up the most entertaining stories, and when Scott’s parents finally told him that they were getting a divorce, he held onto Scott like a lifeline while he cried.

Scott couldn’t imagine a better friend. Even if Stiles was a little strange sometimes. 

***

“Oh Merlin!” Stiles shouted as he ran over towards Scott. Scott would have noted that it was the first time in a long time that Stiles had made one of his strange references, if it weren’t taking every ounce of his concentration not to asphyxiate. They were up in the Preserve in a wide meadow where Scott had promised to teach Stiles how to play catch where nobody could see them. It had been going well (in that the balls had finally stopped their stubborn insistence on not going anywhere near Stiles and he’d been able to finally catch a few). Of course Scott had to get cocky then, running around even when he knew that some of the spring flowers could trigger his allergies, which triggered the asthma.

“Scott. Scott!” Stiles continued to panic. He gripped Scott’s face between his hands, shaking him in a way that was completely counterproductive. “What is this? What’s going on? Are you dying? Are you dead? Should I do that thing from TV where they hit your chest and kiss you?”

“Asthma,” Scott managed. Of course, Stiles looked completely confused. Why did he ever think it was lame to wear his inhaler around his neck? Now he had no idea where it was. In his backpack? Did he even bring it?

“Curse it, Scott! How can I help you?” Stiles had tears in his eyes now, mirroring the tears in Scott’s own. The wheezing was getting worse - so much worse. They were in the middle of nowhere. No cell phone service. No ambulance. “I knew I should’ve kept a bezoar on me at all times!”

Scott’s vision was beginning to blur, but he knew he had to do something. “Inhaler,” he rasped. “Backpack.”

“Backpack? I’ll get your backpack. Do you have a potion in there?” Stiles flailed, but Scott must have been coming in and out, because Stiles already had the backpack when Scott couldn’t remember him ever even getting up. “Okay, Scott. What do you need?”

Stiles upended the entire contents in the grass, holding up items one at a time - like he thought that Scott’s protractor might be able to stop an asthma attack. Scott grabbed for the inhaler as soon as Stiles got ahold of it, fumbling with the cap, but eventually getting enough puffs to calm some of the wheezing.

He hated the lightheaded, overwhelmed feeling after an attack, leaning back against Stiles, who was still babbling nervously and hugging Scott to him. “I can’t, Scott. I can’t lose you, too,” Stiles murmured into the back of Scott’s neck with a wet splash of tears. 

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Scott managed once his breathing had calmed. “We can walk back down and then call my mom to take me to the hospital.”

Stiles’s eyes widened. “The hospital?” he gasped, like it was the scariest thing that could possibly happen. Scott knew he should not have let his mom show Stiles around that time she’d had to take them in with her for a few hours.

“It’s just an asthma attack. It happens to me all the time. It’s scary, but I’ll live. I promise.” Scott didn’t say how bad this one was or mention the fact that he _always_ felt like he was going to die. That was just the panic of not being able to breathe. He was fine.

Stiles still looked pale as a sheet. With his hands shaking and tear tracks down his cheeks, he looked like the one who needed the medical attention, not Scott. “What even was that? It can’t be normal.”

“It’s just my lungs getting irritated and spasming so that it’s hard to breathe.”

“That’s bad. Why don’t you make it stop?”

Scott hated when Stiles got like this. He was the smartest kid Scott knew, but he was too innocent. He didn’t get that there were just some harsh realities: you couldn’t make money out of thin air or magic your problems away. “It’s a condition. The doctors can give me medicine, but they can’t just make it stop. I have to live with it.”

“That’s not _fair_ ,” Stiles whined.

“Life isn’t. We just have to worry about being good. That’s what my mom says.”

Stiles looked stymied for a moment, biting his lip. Then he asked, in a hushed tone, “Can you _die_ from this?”

Scott shrugged. The doctors tried to downplay it so as not to scare him, but he’d looked it up on the internet: people did die from asthma. 

“No,” Stiles said.

“What do you mean?”

“No. I won’t let you. You’re my best friend, Scott. I love you and I’m not going to let anything separate us. No matter what.”

“Stiles--” Scott tried to interrupt.

Stiles’s eyes were glassy, but he raised his chin with determination and tremulous vibrato. “I’m not losing you, too.”

Three months later, after Scott had almost forgotten about the asthma attack, Stiles showed up with the world’s most disgusting concoction. It was a terrifying yellow color and tasted a little like mushrooms and rubbing alcohol and lot like blood. Stiles pulled out an old book written in a language Scott didn’t recognize said some made up words. The only reason Scott even thought about drinking it was that he was pretty sure Stiles would cry if he didn’t.

In spite of all his strangeness, Scott knew one thing about Stiles: he would not quit if he were serious about something. Who cared if he’d invented some crazy fake magical spell to make sure that he never had to let Scott go? Stiles might have been deluded, but what kind of friend would Scott be if he let his best friend think that he wasn’t willing to accept his help?

The strange thing was that the next time Scott went to see his asthma doctor, he aced the breathing test for the first time ever.

***

It was an otherwise unremarkable July day when Stiles burst through the front door wearing what looked like a black smock and holding a large envelope so fancy that Scott had only seen similar ones in movies. 

“Did you get yours?” Stiles demanded, practically bouncing up and down. 

Scott was used to strangeness from Stiles, but he still said, “Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get my what?”

“Your _letter_. You should have gotten one. I’m sure that you’ll get one.” Stiles stopped his frantic motion all of a sudden, looking so strange standing still. “Unless … no, you’ll get one. There’s no way …. you have to get one. I’ve done everything--”

“What are you talking about?” Even after two years being best friends, the dedicated, almost maniacal look in Stiles’s eyes still spooked Scott.

Stiles’s pacing had not only resumed, but had reached a fever pitch as Stiles flitted around like a humming bird, looking up the fireplace and through the mail slot and digging around in the pile of papers Scott’s mom sometimes left on the kitchen table. “That’s okay,” Stiles reassured someone, probably himself. “Not all owls fly at the same speed and my dad gets things quicker because he’s an auror. We can just wait.”

“Hi Stiles,” Mom said. She looked bemused, as usual when Stiles was around. “You dad knows you’re here, right?” She’d tried to lecture Stiles’s dad about letting him walk over through the Preserve by himself and always drove Stiles home no matter how much he protested, but all Stiles’s dad would agree to was that he knew where Stiles was at all times and that he had a way to contact him. Scott got the impression that mom agreed with dad that Stiles was a troublemaker and that his father was irresponsible, but Stiles was Scott’s only friend and she couldn’t turn him away.

“My dad always knows where I am. He has a clock in his office,” Stiles replied distractedly. He was now on his hands and knees, halfway out of the fireplace. “Are you sure you haven’t gotten a letter? Or maybe, do you have a mouse problem? Sometimes the post comes late when the owls get distracted.”

“Okaaaay,” mom replied sarcastically. That was really the only way she could find to deal with Stiles’s weird statements. “Are you done snooping in my fireplace? Christmas is months away and I’m 95% certain nothing’s living up there.”

Stiles crawled out of the fireplace, tripping over his long black smock.

“Stiles,” Scott asked. “What are you wearing?”

“My robe. It’s what all wizards--”

“Dude, I thought you’d started to dress like a normal kid,” Scott admonished. He loved Stiles, quirks and all, but sometimes he was just asking to be bullied.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to pretend to be a muggle anymore!” 

Scott’s eyes widened. He’d thought Stiles had gotten over all these childhood games. Was this some kind of relapse? A psychological episode like he'd seen on that one episode of Law and Order before his mom shut the TV off? “Stiles, is something wrong?”

Mom chimed in. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you can tell us.”

Stiles grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting down on the floor in front of the mail slot. “Nevermind, we’ll just wait for your letter.”

“Stiles, are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Mom began.

“Shh!” Stiles interrupted her. “Do you hear hooting?”

To everyone’s shock, Stiles suddenly rocketed up, flung open the door and held out an arm for a large barn owl to land on, dropping a letter similar to the one Stiles carried into his palm.

“Thanks,” Stiles said to the owl. Then he grabbed something out of his smock to feed it before he let it fly off. Once he took in the McCalls' shock he shrugged. “Dad says to be a good tipper.”

“Dude, awesome!” Scott shouted at the same time mom yelled, “Stiles Stilinski did you just let a wild bird into my house?!”

“I told you, you’d get a letter, Scotty,” Stiles said. “I know you were worried about me going off to Hogwarts this year, but you don’t have to be now, because you got a letter, which means you can come too.”

“Hogwarts? You mean boarding school?” Mom said. “Stiles, I don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t afford--”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles said. “It’s free. You have to buy some supplies, but they’ll exchange muggle money at Gringotts and if you don’t have enough, my dad will lend you some. Our vaults are pretty stuffed.”

“Stiles, I didn’t apply to any boarding school. And your bird giving you--”

“Muggles,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Just read this.”

Scott opened the letter when his mom wouldn’t take it, holding it out so she could see. It said:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY 

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Head Witch, Council on Magical Education, Vice Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) 

Dear Mr. McCall,

We are pleased to inform you that you that the fates have determined that you are destined for a bright tenure at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of books and equipment as well as a list of prohibited items, though students are encouraged to use good sense when thinking about what items they may need in the future. 

Term is foretold to begin on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Best Regards,

Sybill Trelawney  
Deputy Headmistress

“Okay, Stiles,” Mom said, looking both perturbed and heartbroken. “I’m willing to indulge you boys in a lot of things. But this kind of prank -- with a _live animal_ \-- it crosses a line. You are not a wizard. There’s no such thing as magic. If you’re having trouble coping, talk to me, talk to Scott, talk to a shrink, but you need to face the fact that you are going to boarding school and Scott isn’t going with you. I can help you talk to your father about you attending public school here in town, but, I’m sorry, honey -- I can’t make any promises.”

Instead of looking like he’d been served a harsh dose of truth, Stiles seemed _gleeful_. 

“Um, Mom--”

“It’s okay, Mrs. McCall. We’ll laugh about this later. I’m gonna call my dad and he’ll clear everything up.”

Instead of yanking out his cellphone, Stiles pulled at the chain he wore around his neck and held the small silver medallion on the end in his palm before tapping it three times and saying, “ _Admonitio!_ ”

“Stiles, what--” Scott began, only to be interrupted by a loud pop and an “oh my god!” from his mom. Mr. Stilinski had just appeared out of thin air in the middle of the living room.

“I’m not imagining this,” Mom gulped. She backed slowly away until she was right by the door. “You saw that, Scott?”

Scott found that he was less surprised than one would think. He’d seen Stiles perform magic the day they met, not to mention the number of strange coincidences that seemed to happen around him. Then there was the weird culture shock and the potions. Scott had only really doubted him because he wasn’t bold enough to believe in magic, not when everyone told him it wasn’t possible. He’d always hoped, though….

“Mrs. McCall,” Stiles’s dad said, once he glimpsed the parchment letter gripped tight in Scott’s hand. “I’m sorry for the sudden intrusion. My son is supposed to use his touchstone medallion for emergencies only.” Then Stiles’s father did the amazing: he actually grinned rather than looking at Scott like a strange creature that might sprout venomous spikes at any moment.

“You just appeared out of nowhere,” Mom murmured.

“I did.”

“And it wasn’t a magic trick?”

“Magic: yes. Trick: no. I’m a wizard and so is Stiles and so, apparently, is your son. We moved here to learn to live with muggles -- that’s non-magical folk -- and my son finds the only other wizard in Beacon Hills to befriend. Can’t say I’m sorry, though, because I like Scott and I’d hate to see them separated.”

Mom looked shaken. Of course, Stiles’s dad didn’t help by whipping out what looked like a magic wand and making a chair move behind her so she could slowly sink into it. “Scott doesn’t do magic! First of all, magic doesn’t exist. And if it did, I’d know if my son could do it. And even if it were real, he’s not going to boarding school. His father is already out of the picture. I’m not pushing him away.”

Scott had always been intimidated by Stiles’s dad, but now he looked nothing but compassionate. He magicked another chair behind him so he could sit and grab mom’s hand. “I know this is difficult. It’s hard for all of us to put our kids on the train. No matter how much of a pain in the ass they may be.” He gave Stiles a sideways glance. “But, to be honest, you don’t have much of a choice.”

“The hell I don’t. I’m Scott’s mother.”

“Yes, but you’re also a good person, so you’ll send him. Melissa, Scott is a wizard. Nobody can change that. You can’t teach him about magic and without the proper guidance, he won’t be able to control it. People could get hurt, especially Scott.”

“And he has to learn how to be a wizard!” Stiles added. “Because it’s awesome and he won’t ever want to come back.”

“Stiles, you’re not helping,” Scott grumbled urgently.

“Look, Melissa, how about this: the boys have to get some school supplies. There’s a wizarding shopping area called Diagon Alley. You and Scott can come with us. You can meet some other witches and wizards, check things out, and then decide what’s right for Scott.”

Once Mom agreed, Stiles’s father shook her hand, pulled what looked like some dust out of his pocket, tossed it into the fireplace and walked into a wall of green flames. 

“Did he just set himself on fire?” Mom asked.

“No,” Stiles replied, completely nonplussed. “He just flooed back to the office. He had your fireplace connected because I spend so much time here. Are you okay, Mrs. McCall? You look a little pale.”

“I’m not okay, Stiles. This is a lot to take in. Witches and wizards and _boarding school_. I’ve always been against them.”

“It’s okay, Mom. It’s free and you won’t have me to feed. You can save more money and, like Stiles’s dad said, if I can do magic, I need to learn how to control it. I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Tears glistened at the corners of mom’s eyes, but she didn’t cry. “I know, honey. I just-- You’re my little man, you know?”

“Mom--” Scott blushed. “You’re embarrassing me.”

She hugged him, grabbing tight. “I know. I’m just not ready for you to grow up.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. McCall,” Stiles blurted. “He’s not going to grow up at all. And Scott won’t be alone there. I got your back, dude. I’ll be your Beedle the Bard.”

Scott, as usual, had no idea what Stiles was talking about. It would be strange, he imagined, to have their positions reversed: with Stiles fitting in and Scott struggling to act normal.

***

Scott looked around the room nervously. As though the invisible train platform and the boats across the giant lake and the great hall with the floating candles and the ceiling like the sky were not enough, now he had row upon row of actual witches and wizards staring at him while he was weighed and judged. By a hat.

Stiles had told Scott excitedly about all the houses. Gryffindor was the best house. It was the house that Stiles’s parents had been in as had most of Mr. Stilinski’s magical policemen. It was the house for the brave and the strong of heart. It’s founder had been the original swashbuckling hero and pretty much all the wizarding heroes of the last war hailed from that house as well. Ravenclaw was for the smart people, which Scott was pretty sure did not apply to him. He got good grades in normal school, but he didn’t value knowledge above all else or whatever the Ravenclaw motto was. Hufflepuff was for lame-o, gullible losers who couldn’t fit anywhere else, according to Stiles, but Scott though loyalty wasn’t so bad. He’d be happy if he got sorted into Hufflepuff. It was Slytherin that Scott was scared of. It was full of dark wizards, Stiles said, racist people who thought muggle-borns like Scott should be eradicated. According to Stiles, since Scott was muggleborn, he didn’t have a high chance of sorting Slytherin, but Scott imagined how awful it would be if he was. 

Stiles said Scott was a shoo-in for Gryffindor, like Stiles himself, but Scott’s palms still sweated and he almost tripped over the stupid robe on his way up to the chair next to Headmistress McGonnagal. Scott failed utterly to match the grace and poise of Lydia Martin, who, after what appeared to be an argument with the hat, had been sorted into Ravenclaw.

The hat looked cranky and it _smelled_ like dusty old books and mildew, but it barely brushed the hairs on Scott’s head before it shouted, “Gryffindor!”

People clapped. There were even a few whoops and cheers from the Gryffindor section. An older girl with jet black hair and laughing green eyes even whistled at him. Scott blushed and hastily took a seat next to an intimidatingly tall kid with dark skin and serious eyes who had been the first sorted into Gryffindor. He made room for Scott at his bench but didn’t smile back when Scott tried his most winning grin.

When Scott looked over at him, Stiles was giving him a thumbs up signal that he couldn’t help but return.

There were quite a few sortings between McCall and Stilinski. The kid with the cherubic curls and the wide blue eyes got sorted into Hufflepuff in a too-apt example of form mirroring essence. Gryffindor gained a frazzled looking blonde girl, at whom Scott’s neighbor _did_ smile. Soon it was Stiles’s turn to be sorted into Gryffindor.

Scott smiled, grinning in anticipation, because if Scott were brave and kindhearted enough to be sorted into Gryffindor, then surely Stiles would be as well. Stiles had stood up to bullies. Stiles had found a way to help cure Scott of his asthma. Stiles had been the most loyal friend that Scott could ever have hoped for. There was no way he wouldn’t be sorted into Gryffindor.

Stiles flailed a little as he sat down to be sorted, a determined look and a swaggering smile in place. But the second the hat touched his head, it shouted out, “Slytherin!”

Stiles’s grin faded. His grip on the stool went white-knuckled. He didn’t budge from his seat, or acknowledge the clapping from the Slytherin table. Only Headmistress McGonagall loudly clearing her throat shook him out of his reverie enough to slink over to join the rest of his house, leaving a large gap between himself and the cute brunette girl who had been sorted first. He wouldn’t meet Scott’s eyes, no matter how hard Scott stared at him.

Once they finished dinner, Scott tried to make his way over to the Slytherin table to talk to Stiles, but was stopped by the tight grip of the tall girl with dark hair who had whistled at him earlier. She was beautiful but Scott was chilled by the slightly threatening grace to her movements.

“Not so fast, little firstie. I know you’re just dying to show off your adventurous Gryffindor spirit, but you’ve got to at least wait until you know the common room password.”

“But, my friend--”

Her expression went from annoyed to piteous almost immediately. Scott blushed when she actually bent down to be on the same level as him. “You’re muggle-born, right?”

Scott nodded.

“And you have only one wizard friend here?”

He nodded again.

“Don’t worry. We’re organized into houses. You sleep with your house, dine with your house, go to class always with your house, and, obviously, play Quidditch with your house, but, classes are small -- you’ll get to see your friend plenty. And Gryffindors are really friendly. Nobody’s going to abandon you. Especially knowing you’re muggleborn, I’m sure people will go out of their way to help. It’s not like we’re Slytherin.”

Scott wanted to protest that Stiles was in Slytherin and Stiles was the most caring kid Scott knew, but the girl had stopped paying attention in favor of announcing, “Welcome, new Gryffindors. My name is Laura Hale and this is Deucalion Scrimgeour. We’re your seventh year prefects.”

***

Scott’s first week at Hogwarts was awful. The only good thing was that he did make a few new friends: Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes, both Gryffindors. Boyd was quiet, which made Scott nervous sometimes, but he came from a pureblood family like Stiles, which meant that he could tell Scott about all the things he didn’t understand - like the moving paintings or the wizarding government or the civil war against Voldemort. Erica was muggleborn like Scott and so they both hung on Boyd’s every word (what few there were of them). Erica was just grateful that in the magical world they had a cure for epilepsy, which she suffered from. In fact, her magic had manifested when she’d had an epileptic fit during a rock climbing fitness day at school. She’d fallen twenty feet and _bounced_. When she asked how Scott’s magic had manifested, he could only shrug. The only real magical miracle in his life had been meeting Stiles. 

The thing was, Scott still wasn’t convinced he should be at Hogwarts at all. All the other kids had either been around magic since they were born or picked it up almost immediately. About the only thing magical Scott was good at was flying and he wasn’t sure a person actually had to perform any kind of magic to do it because the broom seemed to do all the work. Scott also managed to scrape by in Potions, Astronomy, Herbology and the History of Magic, since they were like muggle subjects - you just had to study and follow the instructions in the book. He was also doing alright in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but possibly only because they hadn’t done any spells yet. The question that lingered in his mind was: how could he be a wizard if he couldn't do any spells?

An owl had delivered a letter saying Scott was a wizard, but the owl could have been wrong, because Scott couldn’t even manage to float a feather. Granted, floating a feather was no small feat. It was _magic_. But everyone else in the entire class could already do it. Scott was the only one having trouble. Scott's practice partner, Kira, had managed on her first try and, with practice, even Greenberg had managed to do it without blowing something up. Scott couldn’t even get his feather to twitch.

To make matters worse, Stiles hadn’t talked to him since the sorting. Scott had never felt worse. In fact, he was beginning to wonder why he should stay. If he couldn’t do magic and Stiles wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn't he be happier in a muggle school? Scott wondered why, when Professor McGonagall had called him into her office to discuss his lack of progress, he didn’t just quit. She’d tested him and found that while he had a magical signature, it was on the level of power that could be considered a “squib” in the magical world - a descendant of witches and wizards who nonetheless had little to no command of magic. Scott apparently had just enough power to warrant training, but maybe not enough to do well in any of his magical classes. 

McGonagall had insisted that he find a tutor and that’s what he was doing. First, he asked Laura, as one of his houses’s prefects. Deucalion, the other prefect in charge of the firsties, was creepy. He just took everything so _seriously_. And he must have some superpowers because he knew literally everything that went on in the tower. Scott didn’t intend to ask him for anything, ever. 

“I’d be happy to help you, Scott,” Laura said. “But I don’t know how much good I’ll do. Most of the first year stuff is second nature to me now. Wandwork is about muscle memory. It’s about finding a way for _your_ body to be the conduit for a spell. To be honest, the best people to help you are your peers. They’re trying to figure things out themselves and they’ve read up on the spell theory more recently than I have. Tell you what: if find yourself so practice buddies, all of you can come to me for pointers anytime.”

Scott thought he’d ask his fellow Gryffindors next, but despite trying valiantly, Boyd and Erica were no more successful than Professor Flitwick had been. After an entire afternoon of trying, Scott’s feather still sat forlornly on the floor in front of him and Scott, Boyd and Erica collapsed in a dejected pile.

“Maybe you should ask Lydia Martin,” Boyd offered. 

“Who?”

“She’s only the most popular witch in our year,” Erica said with a roll of her eyes. “Have you been living under a rock?” Not a rock exactly, more living in a funk because his best friend wouldn’t talk to him.

“She’s also the smartest,” Boyd added. “Trust me, I was in pre-wand school with her. If Lydia can’t teach you, nobody can.”

***

As it turned out, it wasn’t that Lydia couldn’t. It was that she _wouldn’t_.

“What do you mean, ‘no?’” Erica demanded, slamming her hands down on the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall. “He asked you nicely. We’re supposed to _help_ each other out.”

“When I said no, I meant no. I have my own studies and my own house to think about. If he can’t perform a simple levitation spell, then he just isn’t meant to be here.”

Scott refused to let Lydia shame him, even though he felt his cheeks heating with the insult. “I’m supposed to be here. I wouldn’t have gotten a letter if I didn’t belong.”

“He’s right,” came a voice from Lydia’s side. “It says so, in Hogwarts: A History.” The girl had long wavy brown hair, wide innocent eyes and a nose like a button. Scott had noticed her in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but only because she sat next to Stiles. She smiled at him shyly and Scott couldn’t help but smile back.

“Even if he is supposed to be here, teaching him isn’t my job,” Lydia huffed.

This immediately provoked an argument from Erica. Scott tuned both of them out to focus on the brunette girl in the Slytherin robes. 

“Hi,” she said, reaching out a hand. “I’m Allison.”

“I’m Scott.”

“Don’t mind Lydia,” Allison asserted. “She’s like this to everyone. Yesterday in Potions she used a jelly legs jinx on Jackson Whittemore when he chopped their dried flobberworms wrong.”

Scott had to smile a little at that. If Lydia was uncaring, then her Ravenclaw housemate was just plain mean. He’d called Scott a stupid mudblood in Transfiguration when he was unable to make his match even twitch, let alone transform into a needle. 

“She’s making me partner with her next class,” Allison continued. “I’m a little worried.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Scott says, even though he had no idea if Allison was any good at magic.

“If you want help, you can study with me.”

“Really? You’re joking.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like that.” Allison smiled shyly. She was adorable, nothing like the evil dungeon-dwelling snake that Stiles had lead Scott to expect from a Slytherin.

“It’s just … you’re in Slytherin.”

“So?”

“So you’re supposed to be ambitious and, like, cutthroat. You're supposed to hate muggleborns. Why would you want to help me?”

Allison frowned. Even her frown was cute. “We’re ambitious, but that doesn’t mean we want everyone else to fail. You’re a muggleborn. You didn’t grow up with magic so of course you need a little help. Come by the Slytherin Common Room at two and we’ll help you.”

“Thanks.”

They grinned at each other stupidly until the sound of a plate breaking interrupted the moment. Scott turned to find Erica and Lydia engaged in an old-fashioned, scratching, hair-pulling fistfight.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw and ten points from Gryffindor!" came a loud, booming shout from the teacher's table. "Ye girls should be ashamed 'o yerselves."

***

Scott got lost on his way to the Slytherin Common Room and somehow ended up in the owlery instead of the dungeons. He only managed to arrive fifteen minutes late with the help of a painting of a knight he'd befriended. He wrung his hands nervously. Allison was doing him a favor. He didn’t want to be rude.

“Scott!” Allison exclaimed with a brilliant smile. Scott was fascinated by her dimples. “I was worried you forgot.”

“Sorry. I got really lost. I’m not used to--” he waved his hand around to indicate castles, magic, staircases that moved, _dungeons_.

“It’s okay. I’m sure it must be confusing for you.”

“It’s not for you?”

She shrugged. “It reminds me of my grandfather’s house.”

“Oh. Okay.” Scott didn’t know what to say. Stiles had been from a different world, sure, but he’d never made Scott feel as though he were _lacking_ because of it.

“So, um, just let me get my friends.” She smiled again and then hissed something at an elaborate serpent crest. Her wink did nothing to make the opening into the dungeon common room any less creepy. 

“Finally,” said another female voice. “Your charity case decided to show up?”

Scott ignored the girl with the plump lips and glaring hazel eyes because standing next to her was a horrified-looking Stiles. 

“Allison,” Stiles whispered. “You didn’t tell me that it was--” Scott’s heart sank. Of course Stiles didn’t want him here. Stiles was a Slytherin and Scott was a Gryffindor and they were supposed to hate each other. Stiles probably had to pretend he never liked Scott just to fit in with his pureblood housemates - at least that’s how Boyd had tried to explain it. But then Allison was a Slytherin and she seemed friendly.

“That’s because you wouldn’t have agreed to come otherwise,” Allison replied. “Slytherins are cunning, remember, Stiles?” She grabbed Stiles’s hand and pulled him out of the dungeon with her. 

“It’s okay, Allison,” Scott tried. He could at least make this less painful for the both of them. “I can find someone else to help me.”

“Fine by me,” the other girl agreed.

“Stop it, Cora!” Allison chided. “We’re being rewarded for house unity, remember?”

“Whatever.”

Allison, cunning as she was, released Stiles after they were far enough away from the dungeons that he couldn’t go running back. She moved over to strike up a conversation about shoe shopping with Cora, leaving Scott and Stiles walking awkwardly together, sneaking glances but afraid to do anything more.

Finally, once they were out on the grounds, Scott gathered enough courage to speak. “Look, Stiles, I know that you don’t want to be my friend anymore now that I’m in Gryffindor and you’re in Slytherin, but Allison is right. Houses don’t really matter that much. I mean, we’re supposed to have house unity, right? And it’s stupid for us to go against that when we’re already friends. Allison and Cora don’t seem to have a problem with it, but if some of the other kids tease you for hanging out with a mudblood, you should just ignore them. You can hang out with us Gryffindors any time. I'm sure Boyd and Erica will love you. I've told them all about you already.”

He tried to give Stiles his most winning smile, but, if anything, Stiles just looked even sadder. He stopped walking, even though the girls had continued and found a place to spread a blanket under a willow tree by the lake. The giant squid waved at them lazily from the opposite shore. “Don’t ever call yourself that,” said Stiles, fiercely. 

“Okay.”

“And I’m not worried about being teased for hanging out with a muggle-born! I always knew you were one. I just-- I thought that I’d be in Gryffindor for sure. I thought I was brave and heroic, like you apparently are. If not Gryffindor, then I thought Ravenclaw, since I’ve always been really good at magic. And if not Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff, because I’m loyal. Except I’m obviously not, or I would have been a better friend and not ignored you the past week. I just never thought I’d be in Slytherin with all the pure blood fanatics and the sociopaths. Even if I’m not a hero, I thought I’d at least be the plucky sidekick, not the villain.”

“You’re not!” Scott exclaimed. He couldn’t help it. He pulled Stiles into a tight hug. Stiles squirmed a little, but then collapsed into the embrace. Something bubbled up, warm and comforting, just to have Stiles close. “You’re a hero to me. You saved me in the woods the first day we met and you’ve been saving me over and over since then. I mean, I don’t think I would’ve survived my parent’s divorce without you. And you cured my asthma! I don’t know why the hat put you in Slytherin, but I don’t care. I know you don’t hate muggle-borns and you’re not a sociopath. And Allison definitely isn’t.”

"Allison isn't a sociopath," Stiles agreed, but then looked over at the two girls practicing their levitation spells on a pile of fallen leaves. Allison was giggling, but Cora looked serious and severe and just a little like a serial killer. “But maybe Cora,” Scott and Stiles said at the same time. 

“I missed you,” Scott admitted.

“I missed you too.”

The magic was still a little shaky, but Scott managed to levitate five leaves that day.

***

Scott let Stiles drag him through the stands toward the Ravenclaw section. These stands, so high up in the air, seemed precarious, if not architecturally impossible, but Stiles had only waved him off, shouting, ‘it’s almost as if they’re held up by _magic_.’ Scott had wanted to stay in the library and practice his unlocking charm, because they’d have the room all to themselves, but Stiles had gasped and clutched his heart when Scott had even dared suggest that they would miss the first Quidditch match of the year. Apparently, missing a match just wasn’t _done_ , even if neither of their houses were playing.

“Why are we rooting for Ravenclaw again?” Scott asked.

“Because Lydia Martin is in Ravenclaw.”

“So?”

“Lydia is awesome, dude! She’s smart and beautiful and popular.”

“And mean.”

“And mean. But that only makes her more wonderful,” Stiles sighed. 

“Maybe you _are_ a Slytherin,” Scott complained. He still hadn’t forgiven Lydia for saying he didn’t belong. Especially when, after a ton of practice, he had been able to do the levitation spell after all (barely).

“Lydia is a strawberry blonde goddess and I won’t hear otherwise,” Stiles replied stubbornly. Scott was just happy that he could tease Stiles about his house now. Even after they made up, things had been a little stilted. Scott got the sense that there was something that Stiles wasn’t telling him, but he was 99% sure that the secret was that Stiles knew exactly why he’d been placed in Slytherin and just didn’t want Scott to know. Scott was curious, but he knew Stiles wasn’t a villain or a racist or any of the bad things people said about Slytherin. Stiles was a good person and that was all Scott needed to know.

“You have a crush on her,” Scott accused. He didn’t like the idea of Stiles having a crush, especially on somebody so snobby as Lydia Martin. There’s no way she could appreciate Stiles’s hilarious sense of humor or his loyalty or his own wacky kind of brilliance.

“I’ve wanted to marry Lydia Martin since we were eight.” Stiles announced proudly. “She won’t give me the time of day, but you wait and see, we’re going to have beautiful little strawberry blond babies who will be the most brilliant witches and wizards in the world.”

“Sure,” Scott huffed. He knew it wasn’t very polite, but he made sure to sit in between Stiles and his crush. It would be best if Stiles just forgot all about her, he told himself. She wouldn’t treat him right. Besides, weren’t they a little young to date, anyway? It would be better for Stiles if he just focused on his friends.

“Besides, she’s Allison’s best friend and Allison is my friend and I don’t know any Hufflepuffs, so even if it means sitting with that jackass, Jackson Whittemore, we might as well be in the Raveclaw section,” Stiles continued to blabber. Scott waved Allison over and made Stiles scoot so that Allison could sit between Scott and Lydia as an additional buffer. Scott was probably going to friendship hell, but he didn’t care. Now that he and Stiles had made up, he never wanted to let him go. Stiles was the only reason that he was even still at Hogwarts, because despite his best efforts, it was becoming clear that he wasn't here for _magic_.

It was chilly in the stands, so Scott ended up curled up against Stiles’s side until Allison’s cousin Kate took pity on them and cast a warming charm from where she was sitting in the row behind them. Scott was pretty sure that Stiles already knew how to cast a warming charm himself, based on the indigent squeal he’d given at being spelled warm like a child. Allison had told Scott in private that Kate was actually her aunt, but as only a 6th year at Hogwarts, she was closer in age to Allison than her Dad so they called each other cousins. She was beautiful, but Scott was more than a little scared of her, especially when she called him cutie and tried to pinch his cheeks. She fit more into what Stiles had described as the 'Slyterin mold' than anybody.

Stiles was really into the game - shouting at the players and arguing loudly about technique with Jackson, whose parents had apparently bought him his first racing broom at age three. Allison was no less enthusiastic, but took the time to explain how the sport actually worked to Scott.

“But isn’t that kind of unfair?” Scott asked. “I mean, everyone else plays so well and fights to score and you can just get a ton of points by catching the gold thingy?”

Allison shrugged.

“Gold _thingy_?!” Stiles gaped with mock offense, before the beautiful Indian beater from Hufflepuff rammed into the Ravenclaw goalkeeper, which distracted him into vaulting to his feet and screaming foul.

“I always thought it was a bit too many points,” Allison agreed. “But I’ve always played chaser, so I might be biased. Stiles says you’re good on a broom. Maybe I could show you sometime?”

“I’d like that,” Scott replied, hoping that he wasn’t blushing too badly. Allison was always effervescent and painfully earnest. He’d never say it to Stiles’s face, but while he could see some Slytherin traits in Stiles, Allison was the one who seemed out of place in the house of snakes and dungeons.

After Madame Hooch blew a whistle for a foul, Stiles calmed down a little, nestling back into Scott and slinging an arm around him, even though the warming charm still protected them from the chill.

“That Hufflepuff Beater is really good. Not the one with the twin in Slytherin. The other one. The tall dark and scruffy one. He's really good. A little too good. Don’t you think?” Stiles asked.

“Dude, I just learned how to fly a few weeks ago, I have no idea what’s good!” Scott protested. 

“You’re right,” Allison chimed in. “He is really good. He’s the only person since Harry Potter himself to make the house Quidditch team in his first year. I heard that the Fitchburg Finches have already been trying to option him for when he graduates even though he’s only a fifth year.”

Scott looked out at the game, trying to make out the beater who was, admittedly, very good, at least as far as his novice eyes could tell. “Oh,” Scott said, once he focused on the kid. He was broad shouldered and muscular, with dark hair and serious green eyes. “That’s Derek Hale. He’s Laura’s brother.”

“I know who he is!” Stiles protested. “It’s just, look at the way he swings the bat! It’s too fast! And his form is always perfect. And he never misses. Look, he’s hit someone every single time the bludger comes his way. And sometimes he hits them hard! See what he just did to the Ravenclaw seeker? Awesome! He could probably just stay on a person and hit the bludger at them constantly, but he doesn’t. That would call too much attention. So he hangs back. But the dude literally does not miss! That can’t be natural.”

Scott shrugged. He still hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that magic was real. If people could split their souls into horcruxes or ride on broomsticks, who the hell was he to say what was natural or not? “Maybe he’s just really, really good at Quidditch. I mean, Laura’s one of our chasers and she’s really good too. Their family must have good genes. And I bet they practice together.”

“No. That’s not it,” Stiles said, looking a little frighteningly obsessed, if Scott was honest. Stiles had gotten that same look before he’d (obviously in retrospect) started to use magic to get back at the kids who had bullied him in school.

“If it runs in the family, then why can Cora barely stay on her broom?” Allison interjected, rolling her eyes. “I think he’s just naturally talented.”

"I think you're right, Stiles," Kate chimed in, putting her arms around both Scott and Stiles. It took effort not to squirm. "You're a very observant young man. I think I'll have to pay more attention to you. And definitely to Derek Hale." She winked salaciously.

“Cut it out Kate,” Allison replied exasperatedly. "Not everyone wants to sleep with you."

"Besides, he's already dating Jennifer Blake," Lydia Martin chimed in. "He can't do any better than a Ravenclaw and Head Girl."

“Not on paper. But let me tell you, I'll give him head, girl," Kate replied. "Remember that when you're the smart, sweet, goody-goody head girl. Nobody loves a naggy know-it-all. There's one way to have real power over men, and Jennifer Blake doesn't have it in her." 

"Gross." Lydia wrinkled her nose, but Scott could see speculation in her eyes. Lydia was utterly terrifying.

"He is delicious, isn't he?" Kate continued, rubbing Stiles's shoulders. "New house project, my little protege. We find out what makes Derek Hale tick."

If Stiles didn’t want to conform to the villainous Slytherin stereotype, Scott thought, he probably shouldn’t rub his hands together and arch his eyebrows like a Bond villain.

***

“I don’t get it,” Scott complained to Isaac as his wand flickered anemically. “I practiced all weekend and it was fine and then we get to class and nothing.”

Isaac was a quiet kid. He never spoke up in class and always huddled in on himself meekly. He was muggleborn, like Scott, but much better at casting spells. He was scared of his broom during flying lessons and a downright menace in Potions, but he was patient and didn’t mind staying after if Scott couldn’t get something. Scott was happy to partner with him. Then again, nobody else wanted to partner with Isaac, not even the other Hufflepuffs. Nobody wanted to partner with Scott either.

“Are you sure you aren’t just, um, nervous?”

Scott shrugged. “I’m nervous, but not _that_ nervous. I mean, on Sunday Stiles taught me how to cast a summoning charm and that’s a Fourth Year spell, but today I’m completely useless.”

“Maybe you just need to feel comfortable. You can do things better when you’re around Stiles, right?” Isaac asked.

And when Scott thought about it - that was true. Unlike Charms and Transfiguration, he’d had no trouble when they finally learned their first spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Could it have something to do with the fact that they had class with the Slytherins that period? “Maybe,” Scott admitted. He hated being such a baby, but Stiles _had_ been the one who had brought magic into Scott’s world. It made sense he’d feel more comfortable doing it with Stiles there. It was almost a visceral feeling -- like just looking into Stiles’s encouraging amber eyes lit a fire deep inside him. It felt slick and luxurious and comforting, like the world’s finest hot chocolate. Magic just flowed when Stiles was around.

“Okay, so if it works with Stiles, maybe you just need to picture him here.”

Scott nodded, closing his eyes and picturing Stiles’s smug grin, his upturned nose, the pattern of moles on his neck that Scott had spent so much time staring at when he'd sat, bored, behind him during their muggle classes. 

“I think it’s working,” Isaac said. “Keep your eyes closed and keep trying.”

Scott pushed deeper into the recesses of his mind, digging for that feeling of vulnerable tenderness that Stiles always awakened in his heart. Stiles was never far away, Scott realized. From the moment they’d met, Stiles had been in his head and in his heart, pulsing with magical energy and a kind of potential that Scott couldn’t put his finger on, no matter how hard he tried. 

Suddenly, the vision switched from fond memory to tangible imagery. Scott was in a forest, searching, calling out for his friend. He could feel the cool Earth beneath his feet and the wind rustling through the trees, sapping the warmth from his skin. The Stiles in Scott’s heard was obscured by mist, but still vibrant, red in a world of black and white. Scott walked toward him on shaky feet, reaching out a hand. Stiles was naked, his skinny body tattooed in the power constellations Scott recognized from Astronomy. Shadows traced themselves across Stiles’s face and his creamy, pale skin, red from the being that stood next to him. It was an ethereal figure in the shape of a wolf, glowing and pulsing with power. ‘Take it,’ vision-Stiles said. Then the wolf sprang at him, straight at the jugular, but Scott didn’t flinch. The wolf sank its teeth in, but all Scott felt was the rush of power -- hot chocolate warming his veins.

When he opened his eyes, Isaac was huddled in the corner and the tip of Scott's wand glowed bright red.

“Is it supposed to do that?” Isaac squeaked. "That's not the _lumos_ spell.

“I don’t know,” Scott replied. What he did know was that hallucinatory visions of your naked best friend probably weren’t a psychologically healthy way to connect with your magic. It was creepy and territorial, like a lot of the things Scott had been feeling towards Stiles recently. A part of him wanted to ask someone about it, but he was already so close to failing out that he didn’t want to bring up anything so obviously _dark_ , not when the whole wizarding world still seemed so sensitive on the subject of the Dark Arts after the recent war.

“Isaac,” Scott stammered. Isaac looked so innocent and hopeful - the opposite of the dark forest of Scott’s vision. 

“Scott, what was that?”

“Isaac, can you do me a favor?”

Isaac nodded.

“Don’t tell anybody else about this.”

Isaac nodded again.

“Not the teachers. And especially not Stiles.”

Things got better after that, at least in school. When Headmistress McGonagall called Scott into her office to congratulate him on his remarkable progress, he lied and said all he had needed was practice. He didn’t tell that in order to perform even the simplest Transfiguration he needed to call up an image of his naked best friend and a feral, glowing wolf. He was pretty sure that even among people who used magic every day, that would be considered weird.

***

“Stiles, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but don’t you think you’ve taken your, um,” Scott wanted to say _stalking_ or maybe obsession, but he knew Stiles wouldn’t react well to that. “Maybe you’ve taken your interest in Derek Hale a little too far. I mean, maybe he’s just a guy who’s really, really good at Quidditch.”

Yesterday, Allison had told Scott that Stiles had snuck into her cousin's dorm room and scraped Derek's hair off her pillow then tried to justify it by saying that if Derek didn't want his hair stolen then he should know better than to sleep with a Slytherin. It was intervention time.

“I’ve taken my interest in Derek Hale to exactly the right level,” Stiles countered loftily. “Now, stop lecturing me and start scouring.”

They were in the Potions Classroom, supposedly carrying out detention -- Stiles for talking back to Mr. Harris and Scott for blowing up his cauldron. It had been Isaac’s fault, but the poor kid had been through enough so Scott had taken the blame. Scott was the only one actually scouring the ingredient jars. Stiles appeared to be taking advantage of the detention to earn more detention by using up Harris’s private potions supplies.

“What are you brewing again?”

“An experiment,” Stiles replied. “It’ll be awesome. Don’t worry.”

Scott was competent at potions -- basically meaning that he was good at following the directions. But Stiles was in his own league altogether. Scott couldn’t even begin to figure out what he was brewing, only that it was a different color every time Scott returned from the storage room with more flasks and jars to be washed.

“You’re going to get in so much trouble, dude,” Scott scolded, but he’d learned a long time ago that Stiles was going to do what Stiles was going to do regardless of what Scott had to say about it. Better get a good seat from the sidelines than bring down the mood only to have Stiles ignore him.

“What Harris doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, that lizard-faced control freak deserves what he gets.”

“Yeah, well, Harris I get. He’s an asshole. You still won’t tell me why you’re so obsessed with Derek Hale.”

“You mean other than his mad Quidditch skills and devastating good looks?”

“Oh,” Scott replied, his stomach sinking. He’d been annoyed at Stiles’s crush on Lydia Martin, but Derek Hale? He had a girlfriend and apparently Allison's cousin on the side, and was five years older, way out of Stiles’s league, and was _a guy_. It made Scott _burn_ with wrongness and he had no idea why. “I guess I could see that,” he tried, blushing. Because Derek _was_ a good-looking guy. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”

Stiles dropped his wand and almost spilled his cauldron while flailing around to find it. Scott grabbed the cauldron before Stiles’s could knock it over. “You’re, um, not?”

“He’s not my type,” Scott replied. 

“Who is?”

I can’t stop thinking about you naked, Scott wanted to say. But he didn’t think Stiles would appreciate that. And it wasn’t as though it were a sex thing anyway. It was a creepy, dark magic thing. “Allison,” Scott replied, because who didn’t have a little bit of a crush on Allison? She was adorable and great at magic and she had _dimples_.

“Oh. Okay. I get it.” Stiles fumbled around a bit and then cast a spell that automatically decanted the potion he’d been brewing into a bubbling goblet. “Drink that.”

“What is it?”

“Trust me. Just drink it.”

Scott knew he should probably be more wary of strange potions, but he did trust Stiles with all his being. As with everything Stiles made him drink, it was disgusting. “Dude, why in the hell do all your potions taste like blood?”

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe I put blood in it.”

“Whose blood?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Stiles clapped Scott on the back, smirking.

“So I just drank some mystery potion, no questions asked,” Scott pointed out. “Don’t you think you owe me a little explanation about something - like why you’re so obsessed with Derek?”

“He’s preternaturally good at Quidditch, has a magical signature off the charts, is really, really attractive--”

“You said that already,” Scott snapped.

“No, you don’t get it. Ordinary fifteen-year-olds don’t look like that! I mean, look how tall he is. And how muscular! The guy is built. And he’s so hairy. Perfectly coifed facial hair like that doesn’t happen on accident.”

“Okay, so Derek is an early bloomer. You’re stealing his hair, Stiles! That’s not a cute childhood crush. That’s being a creeper.”

“Derek Hale is a werewolf,” Stiles replied, going from playful to deadly serious in a second.

“What?”

“He’s strong, with supernatural reflexes, abnormal development. He sneaks out on the full moon.”

“How would you even know that?”

“There are tracking spells you can-- Never mind. The point is that Derek is a werewolf and I’m interested, okay? Don’t make me into some kind of crazy stalker.”

“But, Stiles, you _are_ some kind of crazy stalker. You put a tracking spell on him and stole his hair! It doesn’t matter if you do it because you want to lick him all over or because you think he’s a werewolf, it’s still nuts.”

“It’s not nuts. Werewolves are real. Look it up in our Defense textbook.”

“Okay, well if everyone knows they’re real already, then why are you stalking Derek?”

“Werewolf hair is a very valuable spell ingredient. It’s expensive on the black market and I needed some.”

Scott looked at the goblet he’d just emptied. “Did you just put some of our schoolmate’s hair into a potion you fed me?” he gawked. “Without his permission?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Stiles replied, looking utterly nonchalant.

“Isn’t that, like, illegal?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Scott replied. “We’re going to find Derek and apologize before he finds out and reports you. That’s not cool. And you’re going to explain to us, _both_ of us, what kind of potion was so important that you needed to steal his hair for.” 

Scott grabbed Stiles by the back of his robe and dragged him bodily towards the Hufflepuff common room. Scott had been a sickly asthmatic child, but now he was stout and starting to get enough muscles that he could toss Stiles around. Maybe it was the freaking _werewolf hair_ Stiles had been sneaking into potions for him. 

“Ahh, ahh, ahh, easy Scotty!” Stiles protested, but Scott didn’t care. 

“Look, Stiles, I know that you think that you’re doing the best for me by feeding me whatever this potion is and that you’re doing the best by Derek by not asking his permission, but maybe this is the reason you’re in Slytherin and not Gryffindor. Maybe you do like scheming and ambition better than you like being forthright and courageous.”

Stiles looked utterly devastated. Scott felt momentarily guilty, but he knew he was right. Stiles _did_ believe that the ends justified the means. It didn't matter that he wanted to be the hero, he always took the more sinister route. It didn't make him a bad person, because he was doing it because he cared, but it did make him a Slytherin, through and through.

“Scott, we can’t talk to Derek,” Stiles protested.

“Why not?” Scott demanded. “If we don’t talk to him, then you’re going to tell me what’s in the potion.”

Stiles shook his head. “I can’t. If I tell you it’ll stop working.”

“Is this why I keep seeing a wolf Stiles? Did you cast some kind of dark magic spell on me so that my wand glows freaking _red_?”

“Oh, wow, that’s an interesting side effect. I didn’t know it would do that.”

“So you admit it? You cast a spell on me? Is that why I keep _seeing_ you?” Scott gulped. He didn’t know much about sex, but he knew that there were good touches and bad touches and that having a spell cast on you that made you think about somebody naked was probably a bad touch kind of sex thing.

“No, Scott, whatever you’ve been seeing is just a side effect. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

“You keep asking me to trust you, and I do, but you need to trust me enough to let me know what’s going on.”

“I told you already, Scott. I can’t tell you. The spell only works if you don’t know about it. What if I tell Derek? If he agrees, will you keep taking the potion?”

Scott knew that there were some spells based around secrecy. Boyd had explained that such a spell kept his house hidden from muggles. The question was, could Derek be trusted to tell if the spell was bad? If Derek was Laura’s brother, there was no way he’d agree to something dangerous, Scott rationalized.

“Okay,” Scott replied. "But we find him. Now.”

“Fine. We’ll find him now.” Stiles nodded, whipping out a piece of parchment from his cloak.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a map of Hogwarts.”

Sure enough, the parchment showed all the castle’s many rooms, the vast majority of which Scott didn’t know existed. Stiles tapped the map with his wand and said, “Derek Hale.” A drop of red ink dripped off the tip on the wand like blood, crawling over the page and splattering down by the old gamekeeper’s hut, abandoned when Hagrid moved into the teacher’s housing with his wife and children. The inkblot formed into several dots, each with their own labels.

“Oh no,” Stiles gulped.

“What?”

“He’s not alone.”

“So what?”

“Tonight’s the full moon.”

Scott snatched the map out of Stiles’s hands, looking down at the other names arranged there. Derek, along with Laura and Cora, were inside the gamekeeper’s hut, while there were two other names outside: Kate Argent and Gerard Argent.

“Oh Merlin,” Stiles whimpered. “We have to go.”

Stiles had already taken off running towards the castle entrance before Scott could ask him why. 

“Stiles? What’s happening? Where are we going?”

“Gerard Argent is supposed to be in Azkaban,” Stiles shouted. "Kate swore that she had nothing to do with him, but why did I believe her? Allison vouched for her, but Allison is a kid!

“Shouldn’t we call someone? The police? Or a teacher?”

“We don’t have time!” Stiles replied. He was panting, running full tilt down the corridor. He gripped the magical pendant he used to contact his father, whispering a spell. “My dad will come, but there’s no apparating inside the grounds, even for aurors.”

“Stiles, this is crazy. Let me go get Headmistress McGonagal.” They were kids. They couldn't deal with this alone. But if Stiles was determined to go, Scott couldn't let him go out there alone.

“ _Accio_ Scott’s broom!” Stiles shouted, completely ignoring Scott as they burst out of the castle doors and kept running through the courtyard. It took only moments for the Cleansweep Fifteen Stiles had bought Scott as a present to fly down from the tower and into Stiles’s hand. “Get on,” Stiles commanded. “You’re the better flier.”

Scott hopped on. He wanted to help the Hales if they were in trouble, but he could barely levitate a feather. He had no idea what Stiles expected him to do. 

“I don’t get it,” Scott said, trying not to be distracted by Stiles’s warm arms clasped around his waist. “We’re only kids, what can we--”

“Gerard Argent was sent to Azkaban for torturing sentient magical creatures. He flayed a giantess alive. He cut werewolves in half. He slaughtered an entire herd of centaur. I don’t know what he plans to do to the Hales. I should have known, though. I mean, if I can figure out Derek's secret, then Kate Argent could. Why else would the daughter of the most anti-werewolf wizard in the country have sex with a werewolf other than to betray him?”

Scott had worried about navigating the grounds in the darkness, but it turned out that he needn’t have -- the cabin was easy to spot. It was surrounded by a lake of fire, kept back by only a flickering magical barrier. And not just any fire: Scott could see shapes in it, animals and faces, monstrous forms like he imagined the fires of hell might look like.

“Oh my god,” Scott gasped. “Are they still in there?”

Distant screams confirmed that they were.

Scott landed the broom next to Kate Argent, who was laughing maniacally. 

“Let them go!” Scott yelled.

Gerard Argent was not how Scott pictured him from Stiles’s fearful description. He looked like somebody’s nice old grandpa. Then again, so many wizards did. What kind of world had he ended up in? Magic was supposed to be flying broomsticks and fairy charms, not genocide and hellfire.

“Oh, Kate, who are these? More werewolves?” Gerard observed menacingly.

“They’re first years,” Kate spat. “That one is a Slytherin.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Stiles shouted, along with a spell that flung Kate back against a tree, knocking her unconscious. 

“Interesting,” Gerard commented. “Advanced for a first year. Then again, our house is known for cunning.” With a flick of his wand, he had Scott and Stiles lashed together by bonds that sprang from the tip of his wand like snakes. “The question, my boy, is if you are cunning enough to realize what is truly going on here.”

“You’re murdering three innocent children,” Scott offered, earning himself a slap from the old man.

“Wrong. I am exterminating three monsters. Did you know what their kind did during the war? Not only did they give us true purebloods a bad name, but they ate people, mauled them. And not just under the full moon. They are not people and they only stay in line because nobody realizes their danger. They are feral monsters that can move freely among us. But they’re just waiting to turn and bite the hand that feeds them, like any beast that does not know its place. The giants and the centaurs, those we can keep under the yoke, but these, the ones that can pass as humans. They are the most dangerous of all.”

“Help!” Scott heard Cora shout. She sounded like a frightened child and not like a monster at all. The barrier flickered and the flames burst in. The screaming intensified.

“As you can tell, we’re almost done here,” Gerard continued. “We’ll just wait for the fire to finish burning and then a little memory charm and you boys can be on your way.”

“You won’t get away with this. It’s a fire on the grounds of Hogwarts. The aurors will find evidence.”

“They’ll find evidence that Derek had been experimenting with the dark arts, especially with fire spells. My daughter, his loving girlfriend, who was knocked out while fleeing the blaze, has made sure of it.”

Scott and Stiles struggled at their bonds, but it was useless. The Hale siblings were going to die and Scott and Stiles wouldn’t even remember it. Even if Stiles’s dad did make it here, he would be too late. The fire had nearly engulfed the cabin now.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Gerard added, “I must check on my daughter before I have the time to obliviate you two.”

“Scott,” Stiles whispered.

“What?”

Was it possible that Stiles actually had a solution? They were tied up and Gerard was both an adult and clearly a powerful dark wizard.

“Grab my hand.”

“What? Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Scott replied truthfully. He'd trusted Stiles enough to follow him into this crazy world, to drink a mystery potion he brewed, to be his best friend in all the world.

“Then go to that place, whatever you use to do magic. Go there and let me in.”

“What? Stiles?”

“I can extinguish the fire. But I need to be at full power. I need you to-- Whatever magic you’re holding, I need you to let it go. It’s going to hurt and you’ll probably pass out, but if we want to save them, it’s what we have to do.”

Scott nodded. He had no idea what Stiles was talking about, but he’d do it. Innocent lives were at stake. Not just any innocent lives: Laura, Cora, and Derek.

Scott closed his eyes, grasping Stiles’s sweaty palm in his and holding tight. He was stalking through the woods at night only this time the mist was a yellow haze, reflecting the blaze around them. Stiles approached him, naked as usual, with the wolf standing proudly at his side. But instead of the wolf touching him this time, Stiles stepped forward. He ran a hand down Scott’s cheek. His touch was electric. It felt as though he was reaching through Scott’s skin to his very soul. ‘Release,’ Stiles said. ‘Give me everything.’ In the vision, Scott leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together. ‘You have it,’ he told Stiles. ‘You have my everything.’

The pain was white, purer than fire and more complete. It was having something ripped away. ‘Stiles!’ he cried, but the mist was empty and consumed by flame.

When he opened his eyes, it was to darkness. The fire was extinguished and all he saw were two points of vibrant blue. Derek Hale stood over the bloody body of what had once been a dangerous old man. His face was twisted and he howled at the moon.

Scott lost consciousness only moments later, his hands still entwined with Stiles’s.

***

Scott woke up to the sound of voices. Some he recognized and others he didn’t.

“He doesn’t have a magical signature.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“How is he still alive?”

“There’s evidence of dark magic.”

“Could the werewolves have--”

“But he’s going to be all right?”

His eyelids felt heavy, but there was something poking at his nose incessantly. 

“Wakey wakey eggs and bakey.”

Scott opened his eyes with a groan, seeing Stiles’s exhausted face swim into vision. 

“Stiles?”

Stiles grinned wide with relief. “Oh, thank Merlin. You had me worried.”

“What happened?” Scott murmured.

“We’re heroes,” Stiles replied. “Maybe they’ll let me into Gryffindor now.”

“Laura? Cora?”

“They were badly burned. But they’re werewolves too. I thought it was only Derek, but it turns out their whole family is werewolves. They’re different than the bitten kind. They have more control. That’s why they were able to hide it even under the full moon. I only noticed Derek because apparently he’s a cocky little shit who doesn’t pretend well enough. I kind of like him.”

“You would,” Scott snorted. He still felt utterly weak, but he did his best to laugh with Stiles. “I saw him,” he added. “Did Derek kill Gerard?”

Stiles nodded. “But don’t worry. He might no longer have a promising Quidditch career -- well, unless they change the rules about magical creatures participating -- but he won’t be prosecuted. I’ll testify that he was defending himself.”

“Was he?” Scott didn’t see much. He was too busy having his magic scraped out of him.

Stiles shrugged, though his eyes glinted, harder than an eleven-year-old's should. “That’s what it looked like to me. Gerard almost burned him and his sisters alive. Self defense is what it looked like to you too,” he suggested.

Scott was pretty sure that meant that Derek probably could have spared Gerard’s life, but Scott hadn’t been conscious enough to say. “That’s what happened to Derek. But what happened to me? You asked me to trust you, but now that it’s over and we’ve saved the day, you still owe me an explanation.”

Stiles looked around and then whipped out his wand, casting a silencing charm around them. Madame Pomfrey was talking with Scott’s mom, but both seemed so absorbed that they didn’t notice that Scott was awake.

“I needed more power. In order to stop the fiendfyre, I had to break our bond.”

“Bond?” Scott didn’t know anything about a bond, but he did feel untethered, empty-headed and floaty.

“That’s what the potions were for,” Stiles admitted with a sigh. “Just, um, well, I guess there’s no point keeping a secret anymore. Now everyone knows. The thing is-- Scott, I love you. You’re my best friend and you have to understand that I did it all for you, so you could be here with me, so we could be together.”

“Stiles, you’re scaring me. This is what serial killers say in movies after they’ve gone on a jealous rampage.” He was happy to know that Stiles loved him, but it was still ridiculously extreme.

“Dude, I’m not a serial killer. I just, I really love you and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“Me too, buddy,” Scott replied. He meant it and he hoped Stiles could see that. Still, he hated being lied to. Best friends shouldn't lie to each other, even for their own good. “Just tell me. I promise, I’ll still love you, but you have to tell me.”

“Okay.” Stiles took a deep breath. He grabbed Scott’s hand tight. “Here goes nothing. You’re not a wizard.”

“What?”

“You were born a muggle.”

“But Allison said that’s impossible. Only witches and wizards get invited to Hogwarts. There’s some kind of magical list. It doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Yeah, but it can totally be hacked. You got a letter because you _had_ magic. My magic.”

“What?”

“You’re my best friend, Scott. I didn’t want to go to Hogwarts and leave you behind. I wanted you to come with me, so I used a spell to split up my magic and give some to you.”

“Okay,” Scott replied. “That’s amazing.” It was. Scott never thought anyone would do something like that for him - the goofy asthmatic kid whose parents didn’t love him enough to stay together. “But it’s also really stupid. I’m a muggle and even I know that something like that must be risky.”

Stiles pursed his lips, staring at Scott. “It was worth it.”

“But splitting your magic. Isn’t that kind of what that Voldemort guy did? He made like cruxihorses and put part of his magic into them so he’d live forever. Is it a _dark magic_ spell?”

“First of all, it’s horcruxes, Scotty. Secondly, he was splitting his soul by killing people and I was splitting my magic because I love you. Love conquers all and all that. At least according to Harry Potter. And thirdly, it was only technically a little dark. Grayish. I mean, it’s obviously restricted because it’s some seriously powerful stuff with the potential for abuse if you use it to steal someone else's magic for yourself, but it wasn’t as though I was hurting anyone but myself, which makes it not so dark, when you think about it.”

It still sounded dangerous to Scott, even if done with the best of intentions. “You fractured your magic, though. For me?” Scott was in awe, not that Stiles appeared to notice. He still seemed to be determined to berate himself.

“Not that it did me any good. I could do schoolwork and stuff fine, but there probably always would have come a time when I’d need all my magic. I just thought it would come later, after I found a way to stabilize the spell or give your magic of your own. Now, everyone knows that you don’t have magic of your own and they’re not going to let me loan you any. I’ll get my dad ask McGonnagal if you can stay at Hogwarts and I’m sure that Derek’s mom will ask as well, but if you’re not magical, I don’t know if you can-- I’m sorry, Scott, but you’re a muggle from now on.”

“It’s okay. It was worth it.” Scott found that he meant it. Being a wizard had been amazing and he’d really miss his friends and actually _flying_ a broom, but muggle school wouldn’t be so bad. It was boring, but adventure wasn’t worth people’s lives. “I mean, Derek and Laura and Cora would have _died_. It was amazing what you did.”

Stiles blushed. “It was easy. I just, I wish-- Scott, I know you don’t feel the same, but I--”

“I do,” Scott interrupted. If Scott had learned anything from this whole experience it was that even if Stiles didn’t share his possibly-wanting-to-see-him-naked feelings, there was nothing in the world that would make Stiles abandon him. He’d broken all kinds of laws and sacrificed his own magic just so they could stay together. 

Scott reached out and grabbed Stiles by the front of his robes, drawing their lips together briefly.

“I thought you didn’t feel that way about boys.”

“I said I didn’t feel that way about Derek.”

“You have _seen_ Derek, right? I mean, that kid even looks good crying and singed.”

“It doesn’t matter how good looking he is,” Scott replied.

“Why not?”

“He’s not you.”

Stiles’s smile was brilliant as he leaned down and kissed Scott again.

***

Epilogue

“Congratulations,” Derek said, collapsing down beside Scott in the middle of the meadow. He was still wearing his red and black Fitchburg Finches uniform. As part of the compromise that allowed non-humans to play, the team didn’t schedule around full moons, so it looked as though he might be coming straight from a game. Scott wondered why he didn’t stop at home to shower and maybe kiss his wife, considering that Jennifer was expecting again. Then again, Derek always liked to be the first to show up to the pack’s moon runs. Even though he wasn’t the alpha, Derek thought punctuality showed commitment to the pack. Scott always tried to come early to support that.

“There’s nothing to congratulate me about,” Scott replied. “Save it for Stiles when you see him.”

“You don’t think I should congratulate the husband of the youngest member of the Wizengamot in history?”

“That’s only because Harry Potter turned the position down,” Scott answered.

“You’ve been a wizard for how long and you still haven’t learned not to compare anything you do to Harry Potter?” Derek joked. They both chuckled.

“I’m not a wizard, though,” Scott replied. “I never was.”

“You’re a werewolf,” Derek responded, the way he always did. “That’s good enough.” It was enough to see things only those with magic could see and to wield magical objects. It had been enough to stay at Hogwarts, but not enough to use a wand.

“And I’m grateful to your family for that.”

“You saved our lives. It was the least we could do.”

“That, again, was my husband. He’s the powerful wizard. Not me.”

“Does that bother you?” Derek asked. Scott turned onto his side to look at him quizzically. Derek Hale was not the one for probing personal questions.

“I never would have even known magic existed if not for Stiles. I can’t exactly complain.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what _do_ you mean?”

Derek appeared stymied, his unease at these kinds of conversations showing. He was probably asking at the behest of the alpha. “I mean, Stiles is the most powerful wizard since Harry Potter. His power is on the level of Dumbledore or Grindelwald or Voldemort. Doesn’t that scare you? Knowing what he could do?”

“I was born a muggle. All magic is scary powerful to me,” Scott replied. It was the answer he gave reporters. He felt a little bad giving it to Derek.

“Scott, Stiles got ahold of a restricted potions book, illegally obtained werewolf hair on the black market, and doused you with an illegal spell before he was old enough to attend Hogwarts. That’s not just power. It’s ruthlessness.”

Scott thought about his husband - his sweet, if mischievous, smile, the way he sang their daughter muggle lullabies at night, how he made love to Scott so tenderly. Stiles was perfection. Maybe he’d been under a spell all these years, because he still loved him more than anything. Yes, he could get a little overexcited sometimes. Yes, his sense of ethics were questionable occasionally. But he always listened to Scott and valued his opinion above all else. He’d kept the promise he’d made all those years ago, to not hide anything from Scott ever again.

“The thing about Stiles that you can trust,” Scott said, “is that he wanted more than anything to be in Gryffindor. He always wants to be the hero.”

Derek was a good enough man to not ask the next question, the real question: what if Stiles didn't have Scott? What if he grew bored of being the hero?

Scott rolled over, shifted and nuzzled into Derek playfully. Derek shifted and nipped back. That warm, hot chocolate feeling of magic settled over him like a comfortable blanket. Why ask dark questions? Why ask 'what if' when there was life to live?

THE END


End file.
